


In Case Of Emergency, Break Glass

by everyl1ttleth1ng



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitz-is-a-mildly-evil-genius, Fluff, Humor, Humour, Jemma-is-going-to-kill/kiss-him, Romance, S3E22Spoilers, immediately-post-ingestion-by-Kree-rock, is-this-what-you-guys-call-a-crack-fic?, trying-to-find-the-fun-here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4503318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyl1ttleth1ng/pseuds/everyl1ttleth1ng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz put that lonely time while Simmons was on assignment with HYDRA to good use, building himself an escape portal and cleverly disguising it as an ancient Kree artefact. Now it seems Simmons is warming up to him at last, he throws caution to the wind and spirits her away only moments before he wanders casually back into the lab, triggers his intake mechanism once more and follows after her. </p><p>Asking her to dinner is the closest he’s come to asking her permission. He’s kind of hoping she’ll forgive him.</p><p>This was prompted by an SDCC15 interview, when the M.A.O.S. team were discussing whether or not Fitz left the door open before Simmons was swallowed up. Jeph Loeb said “Maybe there’s a reason why you did.” Dwelling on that line prompted this ridiculous work-in-progress (audience participation invited!) in which Fitz is a mildly-evil-genius who is fed-up to the eye teeth with S.H.I.E.L.D. and its shenanigans and just wants to find a way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fitz was getting so sick of the circus S.H.I.E.L.D. had become after Ward left him and Simmons at the bottom of the ocean that he thought he’d create himself a break-glass-in-case-of-emergency alternative. In his free-time while everyone was off busily ignoring him, he quietly engineered the Kree-esque monolith throwing in a clever design-element or two along the way – those Inhumans were so gullible.

What he hadn’t anticipated, was that Simmons might maybe have started to feel _something_ for him, and it seemed it was something along the lines he’d always hoped. Whatever it was, she’d wanted to tell him more about it and she looked all sort of pretty and misty-eyed when he initially brushed her off.

The neatly disguised escape pod had originally been for him alone but after that final test – the dinner ruse – he felt as confident as he possibly could that he was onto a winner. Clicking the latch open while making it look like an endearing stumble was meant to be the hardest part but the hardest part had been getting his breathing under control after Simmons looked up at him like that, such tentative hope in her eyes.

He had to stop himself from skipping out the door to the security monitors where he’d just caught sight of that pleased little smile. She looked like the cat who’d got the… how did that one go? The cream? The canary? The death by curiosity? Who even cared? That smile was for him!

He waited for her to step into the exact spot he needed her, took a deep breath and triggered the escape pod’s intake mechanism.

Poor Simmons. It _did_ look a bit awkward. She was probably a bit petrified. Perhaps he should have asked her first. Ah well, it wouldn’t be long now before he’d be able to explain.

Fitz tapped a flurry of keys on the keyboard in front of him, wiping the incriminating footage from the system and setting it to start recording again in five minutes time. They’d have nothing but a seamless stream of empty lab to enjoy over their evening meal.

He checked out his reflection in the lab windows, fixing his hair, straightening the lapels of his cardigan. After ensuring that no one approached, he fired a quick wink and a couple of cheeky finger guns at himself in the glass before entering the lab, carefully locking the door behind him.

Fitz stood calmly in front of his escape portal, unable to stop himself stroking it admiringly. Good bit of work, that.

He flipped open the console that he’d neatly concealed near the base of the pod and slightly adjusted the target coordinates. That done, Fitz triggered the intake mechanism once more, crossing his fingers as the portal sloshed around his legs in the hope that Simmons would forgive him once she saw where he’d sent her.

In the moments of airless stasis that followed he remembered the time he’d attempted to prank her at the Academy by switching some of her pollen samples with jelly crystals. He winced at the memory. Simmons wasn’t always all that quick to forgive…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hologram Jemma had not been much use to him while he was working on his mildly evil super secret side project. She’d just stood there and looked at him compassionately in her smart little collar and navy jumper, hair all neatly side-parted and pony-tailed.
> 
> He wasn’t moved one bit.

Hologram Jemma had not been much use to him while he was working on his mildly evil super secret side project. She’d just stood there and looked at him compassionately in her smart little collar and navy jumper, hair all neatly side-parted and pony-tailed.

He wasn’t moved one bit.

Sure, he might have had some weak moments where he’d told the expanse of air in front of him that he missed her, but mostly they just traded jibes about her useless lack of corporeal reality. I mean, what good was having a sidekick if she was too insubstantial to even pass him a spanner? She would maintain that she spent all day providing him with _psychological_ side-kickery of one sort or another but he would just snort and get back to his blueprints. And who could blame him if he hallucinated her resting her hand tenderly on his shoulder every now and again? It’s not like anyone else was offering him cuddles.

Hologram Jemma had laughed at almost every side project idea he’d initially pitched but the sound wasn’t nearly as musical as _her_ laugh. His subconscious had provided him with a pretty poor substitute. And if this was all there was, weak tea and an even weaker hallucination, then there was nothing else for it. His mildly evil super secret side project was going to have to involve an escape plan.

Though he and Jemma had spent hours that stretched into weeks arguing about the feasibility of the TARDIS or the flux-capacitor or KITT back at the Academy, he’d never really put his mind to the physical practicalities before. He’d have to disguise it. He couldn’t just have Hunter bumbling in, setting it off accidentally and getting him into trouble with Coulson.

And when at last the real flesh-and-blood Jemma Simmons wandered back into the lab late one night and reminded him just how far short his imaginary version fell, _then_ he knew he’d really have to give it all he had. But as it turned out, it hadn’t been nearly as hard work to cover his tracks as he’d imagined. She didn’t really seem to care all that much about what he was up to these days.

If it had been him who’d left, and her who’d stayed behind, he knew he would have spent every spare minute with her to make up for their time spent apart. But he was starting to realise that that’s where they differed. Jemma was his everything, but whatever he was to her seemed to be dwindling by the minute.

The escape portal plans came on apace now that not even his imaginary friend came to interrupt his progress. And the unearthing of the Inhumans provided him with the perfect cover. Sure he had to play a few humdrum games of _Mario Kart_ with Mack and watch one or two yawn-worthy classic movies with Skye. But every other moment was devoted to his mildly evil super secret project and by the time Jemma noticed that he still existed, he’d used his super secret spy skills (that no one really appreciated) to sneak it into frigging “Real S.H.I.E.L.D.”s cargo hold. _That’ll show ‘em._

It had taken him longer than it probably should have to let his defences down so that they could talk again. Frankly, it was a bit embarrassing that he’d let her make him cry so many times. Couldn’t a man be left with some small shards of his dignity intact?

But when _she’d_ been the one who’d come to _him_ , eyes glistening with that tantalising _maybe there is_ – he was skewered like a roast on a rotisserie.

Fitz couldn’t let an opportunity like that slip through his fingers. If he was going to go, Jemma was going to have to come with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting some great ideas from both the AO3 and the ff.net communities – thank SO much for the enthusiasm peeps! This interlude is just to give me a little more time to deliberate...  
> Any more ideas for where Fitz has sent them will be gratefully received! 
> 
> And, in the mean time, watch out for the arrival of the angsty fic I’m working on that spawned this one as much-needed cheery emotional release. I think it’ll be called Homecoming and it’s the post-Kree-rock-ingestion tale I needed to tell myself so that I can go on. *sob!*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was slowly dawning on Fitz, as he whizzed across time and space, that no matter his justification, he had just effectively kidnapped his best friend and co-worker. He was going to be in some serious strife and he wasn’t even thinking about what the powers that be at S.H.I.E.L.D. might have to say about it.
> 
> In the planning stages, it had sounded kind of romantic but in the actual throes of action, preoccupied by the abject terror on Jemma’s face as she’d been inelegantly yanked feet-first and screaming into the portal, he was starting to see his high hopes unravelling.

It was slowly dawning on Fitz, as he whizzed across time and space, that no matter his justification, he had just effectively kidnapped his best friend and co-worker. He was going to be in some serious strife and he wasn’t even thinking about what the powers that be at S.H.I.E.L.D. might have to say about it.

In the planning stages, it had sounded kind of romantic but in the actual throes of action, preoccupied by the abject terror on Jemma’s face as she’d been inelegantly yanked feet-first and screaming into the portal, he was starting to see his high hopes unravelling.

Once upon a time, it could have been fixed by grovelling. In the old days of best-friendly intimacy between them, he would have been doing her laundry, cleaning her bunk, writing up her lab notes and making her tea for weeks. Now she’d probably just report him and that’d be it – out on his ear.

The original plan was never meant to involve her. Jemma Simmons and her bloody ethereal beauty, her embodiment of all his hopes and dreams, her constant reminder of everything he wanted and could never have was, in reality, his main motivation for escaping S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place.

When Ward, or S.H.I.E.L.D. (or whoever it was that he liked to blame when he wasn’t placing the blame squarely on himself) had destroyed his partnership with Jemma, that’s when he realised that all the joy had gone out of it for him. And it wasn’t that he intended to hurt her by leaving, this wasn’t revenge or anything. In fact, he admitted to himself somewhere in the depths of his regret, leaving her to be free of him was possibly the only kernel of nobility in this outlandish portal scheme of his. And now he’d gone and taken her with him. She wasn’t going to like it one little bit…

As for where he’d sent her?

To say that the discovery of his hereditary title had come as a surprise to Fitz and his mother would be quite the understatement. After hanging up on the posh voice that had announced the news, Mrs Davina Fitz had rushed out to mail the required documents to the specified office and, on her way home, purchase a copy of _Burke’s Peerage and Gentry_.

The elation with which Davina had babbled to Fitz on the phone later that evening was unparalleled in his experience of his calm, collected mother. But who could blame her? Perthshire’s legendary Tower of Lethendy and its accompanying thirty-nine acres of magnificent grounds had been inherited by her only son, Leopold, the new Earl of Selkirk. A mystery in the traditional order of succession had gone unsolved after Fitz’s somewhat obscurely connected predecessor, a childless recluse, had died and been eaten by his pet Alsatian some years before. It had taken the legal team a good deal of time and effort to finally settle the title, the grounds and the unwieldy fortune on young Fitz.

He was at least relieved that the inheritance entailed no political responsibilities. It did, however, come with its own eighteen hole golf course and private loch.

When oddly shaped packages delivered in highly protective outer cases had begun to arrive at the Playground cargo entry, Mack was, at first, suspicious. Fitz shuttled them away into his own little make-shift lab off the garage and hid himself away in there for hours at a time.

Mack had been tempted to voice his concerns to Coulson for a while, but gradually he saw that Fitz was improving. Whatever Turbo’s side project was, it hadn’t been getting in anyone’s way. If anything it was helping. Might as well let him go for it.

By the time the portal prototype was first completed, Fitz had decided to seize his destiny with both hands. Gathering up all the gold-leaf covered scrolls of title deeds and heraldry, he’d courteously called ahead, straightened his tie and cardigan and set the coordinates for his estate, being careful not to land himself in the loch.

The staff ( _he had staff now!_ ) were eager to please, showing him around his extensive grounds and delightedly handing him the keys to the castle, including his own personal dungeons. Despite having been lavishly refurbished, the dungeons still perfectly suited his purposes as a workshop and laboratory and with the secret passage between the Playground and “home” provided by his prototype, exponential progress on his escape plan was made.

He made up an elaborate tale for the castle staff that would excuse his coming and going from the dungeons at odd hours and thus began Fitz’s part-time residence at the Playground and part-time residence as the reclusive Earl of Selkirk, Lethendy Tower, Meikleour, Perthshire, Scotland.

It was into these very dungeons that Fitz stepped, the portal returning to its dormant state behind him, and braced himself to encounter an extremely angry Jemma.

The sound of gunshots and shrieking proved that Jemma’s wrath was far worse than he had anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAMF Jemma Simmons!!
> 
> In case you're interested, the yin to this story's yang is another fic I'm working on entitled Homecoming. Where this is outlandish and silly and destined to end in fluff, that one is angsty and/or hurt/comforty (and, let's face it, also destined to end in fluff, if slightly more subdued fluff. Like a fluffy thing that's been through the wash a few times, or, like a fluffy thing that's kind of grey instead of hot pink with minions on it...)
> 
> Love to hear what you think of this one, peeps!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma had braced herself for the worst. That giant molten Kree rock had swallowed her, thankfully whole, but now what?
> 
> The airless black fog that had only moments ago enveloped her suddenly cleared. In the split second she’d had to think at all, she certainly had not thought to expect this...

Jemma had braced herself for the worst. That giant molten Kree rock had swallowed her, thankfully whole, but now what?

The airless black fog that had only moments ago enveloped her suddenly cleared. In the split second she’d had to think at all, she certainly had not thought to expect this...

She had somehow been deposited onto an enormous fluffy mattress that, as she looked around, seemed to make up the base of an elaborate mahogany four-poster bed, complete with gauzy ivory canopy. So far, despite all that shaking in their boots, any danger that the rock-thing might have posed to Inhumans was not immediately obvious.

That didn’t stop her from being almightily pissed off.

There she was, mentally cataloguing suitable outfits for the date with Fitz that had suddenly eclipsed every other priority, only to get sucked into a big fat space rock. Bloody _typical_ is what it was!

But as her thoughts drifted to things sartorial, she noticed the deep green dress cascading from a wooden hanger on the glamorous folding screen in one corner of the room. It was lovely.

Where the hell was she? Had she been sucked up and taken to Asgard or something? Fitz had better get himself here too. She’d never hear the end of it if she got a tour of Thor’s world without him. Though he was still adorably mortified by that whole Lorelei incident. _Baby girl_ , honestly.

She clambered off the bed and crossed the room to lift the soft green fabric between her fingers, letting it fall gracefully back into its delicate folds. It didn’t _look_ particularly Asgardian, but then, when it came to that specific category of the Nine Realms Women’s Fashion Collection Fall/Winter 2015, she only really had Lady Sif’s armour to compare it to.

Jemma wandered to the window and peered out, noting first that her view of the twilight sky seemed to hold all of the same characteristics as Earth. She felt her shoulders drop in relief. She didn’t even appear to have left her own planet.

Once sure, she looked down to observe what lay beneath her. She couldn’t help but gasp. Firstly, she was so high off the ground, and the window casements appeared to be large blocks of hewn stone. Jemma ascertained that she was imprisoned in some sort of tower.

The extensive surrounding grounds were lush and green, more reminiscent of her home in the UK than anything she’d ever seen in North America. She could see a golf course, a kitchen garden, a perfectly manicured shrubbery, a tennis court, a swimming pool and even a good-sized lake.

Jemma shook her head sharply as if to clear it. Perhaps she hadn’t been sucked into the monolith at all. Perhaps the thing had just exuded some sort of hallucinogenic substance and now she was lying unconscious on the floor of the lab with Fitz absorbed in scrolling through  _Restaurants Near Me_ somewhere near by.

Hearing voices from the other side of the thick wooden door suggested that wasn’t the case. She ran to it and pressed her ear against the dark grain.

“Lord Selkirk has arrived,” a male voice announced in a thick brogue. “He seems to think his gues’ will already be in her chambers.”

“Tha’s very odd,” a female voice replied. “I’ve been out here arrangin’ the flowers this whole time. I never saw anyone comin’ or goin’.”

“Well, Shona” rejoined the first voice. “It’s not like this’ll be the firs’ time we’ve noticed odd things goin’ on since the new master arrived.”

“Very true, Dougal,” this Shona-person agreed. “Very true. Shall I knock then? See if she needs anythin’?”

“Probably worth a try,” the disembodied-voice-going-by-Dougal replied. “I’ll be down in the dungeons with Lord Selkirk gettin’ everythin’ ready.”

At the mention of the word ‘dungeons’, Jemma reflexively reached into the back of her jeans and extracted the Icer she’d gotten into the habit of hiding under her blouse. No one was going to be dragging her into any dungeons, landed gentry or otherwise.

A timid knock reverberated through the ancient wood.

“Miss?” called the voice she now knew belonged to Shona. “Migh’ I come in?”

Jemma drew in a deep breath and raised her weapon. “Certainly,” she called back through gritted-teeth.

The door swung open. Shona just had time to catch sight of the gun and let out a loud shriek before Jemma fired two shots.

First of an unknown number of targets down, Jemma quickly dragged the woman into the room and left her lying on the soft rug. It was now apparent that Shona was a woman in her late forties and, by the looks of things, a relatively plump domestic servant. Jemma had to admit that on her own, the woman did not appear particularly threatening.

This Dougal and his dastardly dungeon-keeping Lord Selkirk, however, seemed to be _quite_ another matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are with another bit of rampant silliness. Hope you like it! Please let me know if you do - the plot is getting completely out of hand. I have to work out how to reign it in a bit.
> 
> If you're in more of a sombre, angsty, hurt/comfort mood, you may prefer my other post-Kree-rock work-in-progress entitled Homecoming, also available on AO3!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had often been said by friends, acquaintances and sometimes even total strangers that Leopold Fitz had zero chill. This theory was in the process of being proven yet again as he sprinted three steps at a time up the stone staircase from the dungeon to assess whatever damage it was that his erstwhile captive had done.

It had often been said by friends, acquaintances and sometimes even total strangers that Leopold Fitz had zero chill. This theory was in the process of being proven yet again as he sprinted three steps at a time up the stone staircase from the dungeon to assess whatever damage it was that his erstwhile captive had done.

Bolting down the long corridor towards the coordinates he’d sent Jemma, he noticed the door of her assigned bedroom ajar and could just make out the unmistakably clompy shoes of Shona, his eager-to-please housekeeper, on feet that, judging by their angle, could only be attached to a horizontal body that was at best unconscious and, at worst, dead.

He threw the door open and rushed to check the older woman’s vitals, rocking back on his heels in relief as he felt the strong pulse thrumming beneath her skin.

“Fitz?!”

The voice from behind him was unmistakeable, as was the incredulous tone. Fitz clambered to his feet and turned to sheepishly face her.

He fully expected to find himself looking down the barrel of her loaded weapon. What he did not anticipate was her hurling herself into his arms.

“Oh, Fitz! You came after me!” Jemma gasped into his neck, gripping onto him as if for dear life. “I can’t believe you let it take you too! That rock could have been anything!”

She pulled back to look into his eyes and the expression on her face knocked the wind right out of him. She was breathing heavily and gazing at him in a way he’d only ever dreamed she would – cheeks flushed, eyes ablaze, lips slightly parted. He’d caught the briefest glimpse of it just before she’d uttered the fateful _Maybe there_ is that had sucked her into this stupidity.

Jemma raised herself up on her toes and leaned almost imperceptibly forward.

Oh god, she was going to _kiss_ him.

He couldn’t have his longed-for chance at a first kiss with Jemma under false pretences. He wrenched himself away so he could confess.

“Jemma, no!” Fitz cried, pulling back and gripping her upper arms to make her look into his eyes. He realised his expression must have been pathetic.

“Please, Jemma, I _desperately_ want to kiss you but believe me when I say that now is _not_ the time.”

“How many more are there?” she whispered urgently, raising her Icer to her cheek and stepping away from him to press her back against the stone wall beside the open door. “I heard one other voice, another male going by ‘Dougal’. He was talking about some creepy-sounding Lord Selkirk who is apparently down in the _dungeons_ of all places. What do you think he wants with us?”

Fitz opened and closed his mouth, goldfish-like, as she surreptitiously peeked out into the hallway.

“Coast is clear,” she said, motioning him forward with her pistol as she stepped out of the room.

He followed dejectedly after her, wondering when on earth she’d become quite so special-ops. He was frantically trying to find the right words to explain. His manservant gave him a kick-start.

“My Lord?” Dougal’s voice echoed from the bottom of the staircase.

Jemma flattened herself against the stone wall, silently indicating for him to press in beside her. Though he wasn’t proud of it, he did momentarily contemplate playing along. Perhaps Shona and Dougal would eventually come around?

No. He steeled himself against capitulation. If there was ever going to be kissing, it was going to have to be _honest_.

“Everything is ready in the dungeons, sir,” Dougal called. “Shall I fetch your guest and bring her down?”

Fitz’s shoulder’s slumped. The game was up.

“That won’t be necessary, Dougal,” he sighed, watching for Jemma’s reaction.

Clearly caught up in her own little world of espionage, her initial shock turned knowing and she gave him an approving nod and a wink.

_Ugh_ , she was going to make him _say_ it.

“Very good, sir,” came the butler’s reply.

Jemma returned to slinking intently down the hallway, pressing herself tightly against the wall.

“Jemma, please.”

Her head swivelled back so she could shush him, gesticulating warningly with her pistol in the direction of the voice downstairs that had addressed him only moments earlier.

Fitz held out his palms. “Look, Jemma” he began. “The rock – it’s mine. I’m the one who brought you here.”

Her first reaction was to smile at his ill-timed and fairly poor attempt at humour.

He tried to give her a significant no-I’m-really-being-serious look in return. “Will you at least let me explain?”

Jemma contemplated him silently for a moment or two, clearly struggling to process what on earth was going on.

Fitz shrugged and attempted an ill-advised grin.

Her eyes narrowed as realisation dawned.

Fitz’s unconscious form hit the flagstone floor with a rewarding thud, the tell-tale blue webbing already fading from around his eyes. Jemma stood over him and fired a couple more shots for good measure. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as she hoped.

So far, this was _not_ shaping up to be her favourite day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... so silly. This is just a bit of a lark to console myself while I wait to learn the real flesh-and-blood Jemma Simmons' fate!
> 
> Love to hear what you think anyway! Getting a review is like getting a present that you don't even have to spend money on or wrap or spend any time thinking "what on earth do I get for the girl who has everything!?"
> 
> If you prefer your post-Kree-rock consolation to be slightly more sad, angsty and/or hurt-comforty, you might like to investigate my other almost-complete WIP entitled Homecoming in which Fitz manages to bring Jemma home at last.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma instinctively crouched beside Fitz to check his pulse. After reassuring herself that it was healthy and strong, she found herself distracted by the ginger scruff on his jawline and the contour of sharply defined collar-bone just visible under the neckline of his shirt. She carefully adjusted his cardigan, taking another moment (while she couldn’t be caught staring) to enjoy the burgundy wool and royal blue cotton combo. Had his choice of brighter colours coincided with the renewing of his hope? She gently brushed her finger tips down the roughness of his cheek and then realised what she was doing. She gave his head a shove instead.

Jemma instinctively crouched beside Fitz to check his pulse. After reassuring herself that it was healthy and strong, she found herself distracted by the ginger scruff on his jawline and the contour of sharply defined collar-bone just visible under the neckline of his shirt. She carefully adjusted his cardigan, taking another moment (while she couldn’t be caught staring) to enjoy the burgundy wool and royal blue cotton combo. Had his choice of brighter colours coincided with the renewing of his hope? She gently brushed her finger tips down the roughness of his cheek and then realised what she was doing. She gave his head a shove instead.

How very _dare_ he… Though he did look so peaceful there, face smooshed into the stone. He could have been sleeping the sleep of the innocent if Jemma didn’t happen to know better.

And where in the world _were_ they, anyway? Before she could find out, she knew she had at least one more person to knock unconscious on her to-do list.

Jemma grabbed both Fitz’s hands in hers and, yanking them over his head, unceremoniously dragged his inert form down the hall and into the room in which she’d first found herself. She left him lying on the floor next to her first victim then pulled the door shut behind her.

Striding back down the hall toward the steps that she deduced must lead to the dungeons, she once more retrieved her Icer from the waistband of her pants but kept it hidden behind her back.

“Umm, excuse me?” Jemma called in her most polite I-am-not-about-to-shoot-you tone.

“Yes, miss?” the man who must have been Dougal replied, the top of his head just appearing on the staircase.

“Hello,” she replied sweetly. “I’m Jemma, Fitz’s friend.”

“Of course, Miss,” the older man replied, reaching the top step and revealing his formal attire and fastidiously polished dress shoes. “And I’m Dougal, the butler, a’ your service.” He bowed deeply and Jemma took the opportunity to fire directly at the crown of his head.

She reached out and broke his fall just before he hit the stone floor, congratulating herself that she at least wouldn’t have to worry about setting a broken nose on top of everything else.

Normally Jemma Simmons wasn’t the sort to play capricious pranks on total strangers but being kidnapped had put her in a devious mood. Dragging the butler back to her room, she heaved him into one side of the four-poster bed and then heaved Shona into the other, being sure to rest the woman’s head into the crook of the man’s neck.

_There_ , she thought to herself. _That’ll give them something to talk about when they wake up._

Her attention then turned back to Fitz, the mastermind of this evil plot. And what more fitting comeuppance than to find himself locked in his own dungeons. It was poetic justice.

Though when she cautiously descended the steps and entered the area that she’d expected to be all iron bars, cold stone and implements of torture, she found herself in a very fashionably decorated space that looked more like a collection of offices than anything else.

She dropped Fitz’s body on the designer rug, wiped the beads of sweat from her brow, and began opening each door like a recalcitrant game show contestant, poking her head behind each one.

A neat study, expensively furnished; an enormous pristine state-of-the-art laboratory; a wonderfully well-stocked storage room; a small kitchenette, rather like a lunch room; a relaxed lounge boasting an enormous television set; a billiards room complete with dartboard and miniature bar and, at last, a door marked HAZARD: DO NOT ENTER. She tried the handle but found it barred against her.

She strode back to where she’d deposited Fitz and slipped her hand into his jeans pocket in the hope of turning up some keys. Her fingers hit on his unmistakeable T.A.R.D.I.S. key-ring _and_ she managed to extract them without him waking to find her hand in his pants.   _Jackpot._

Returning to the locked door she patiently worked her way through each of the keys – to no avail. She sighed in audible frustration when she finally noticed the subtle fingerprint scanner just under the door knob. Back she went to Fitz and after responsibly bending at the knees and bracing her back, dragged her captor over to where she needed him. Thankfully the scanner was at just the right height for the floor to take his weight. Gripping his wrist tightly, she couldn’t help but admire his large hand and how romantically her tiny one fit inside it. After only a moment lost to unsatisfactorily entwining her dextrous fingers with his slack ones and then cursing her own lack of self-control, the door unlocked with a loud click. She dropped Fitz once more, shoving him brusquely out of the doorway with her foot.

Carefully pushing the door open, Jemma wasn’t entirely surprised to find the monolith that she’d been examining mere minutes before back at the Playground. Perhaps it was the twin to the one in her lab – were they less fictional vanishing cabinets perhaps? Either way, she wasn’t impressed.

Well… she _was_ impressed but she certainly didn’t want Fitz to know that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Homecoming is finished, it's all about this odd fish.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it about a fifth of the amount I am enjoying writing it :D
> 
> oh and please leave a review! you've probably heard that we writers LOVE those things!


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